


Share a Blanket, Save a Life

by fandomfan



Category: Black Sails
Genre: Blanket Thievery, Ficlet, Fluff, M/M, Tumblr Prompt, Warm and Fuzzy Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-31
Updated: 2017-10-31
Packaged: 2019-01-27 00:20:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 660
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12569464
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fandomfan/pseuds/fandomfan
Summary: Believe it or not, of the two of them, John Silver is NOT the blanket thief.





	Share a Blanket, Save a Life

**Author's Note:**

> [Brasspetal](http://archiveofourown.org/users/brasspetal) [posted on Tumblr](http://brassfannibal.tumblr.com/post/166960845870/hey-guys-a-serious-question-here-with-silverflint):
>
>> Hey guys a serious question here: with silverflint who would hog the covers? Especially on those cold nights out at sea. The other would be miserable ;)
> 
>   
> Everyone piled on John, and I felt the need to put in a vote for James Flint: Blanket Hog.
> 
> (don't look too closely for where exactly this would fit in the timeline... vaguely maybe season 2... ish)

John’s own shivers wake him.  Again.  How horrid.

He came to the bloody Caribbean to escape cold, damp, blanketless nights.  When the bloody Caribbean turned out to offer those selfsame things, he wasted little time finding a source of overnight heat.

If he’s being quite honest (a thing he can safely be, here in the dark, in the company of his own thoughts), it took him quite a while of frustrated yearning to obtain said source of warmth.  And if he’s truly baring his soul to himself (his own thoughts keep their confidence quite well, he’s found), he’ll admit that perhaps his motivations were as much sentimental as bodily.

That being true, John Silver does not like the cold.  It is a downright disappointing shame that he’s become rather invested in continuing to carry on with the man he had hoped to keep him warm at night.  Because in that one respect, his hopes have been well and truly dashed.

He grumbles and pokes his Heat Source.

“James, you bastard.”  His ferocity is slightly lessened by the chattering of his teeth.

James makes a noise he’d surely deny in the light of day and buries his head further into the blanket he’s cocooned about himself.  John is half frozen, but he can still appreciate the flip that little snuffle engenders in his chest.

“C’mon, James,” he tries again.  “Of the two of us, I thought I was supposed to be the thief.”

This time he gets a sleep-muzzy _Whuh?_  sort of response.  There goes the chest flipping again.

“You’ve stolen all the blankets again,” John says, and it’s hard to be coaxing when his shivers have begun to rock their hanging bed ever so slightly.

James’s head pokes back up out of his blanket nest.  His loose hair is every which way, he’s got a crease from the linens clear across his left cheek, and he’s only halfway awake, at best.  John’s chest _squeezes_.

“What’re y’fussing ‘bout?” he mumbles.

John sees the moment his bedmate regains enough consciousness to recognize the situation.  It’s in the tic of James’s cheek and the way his eyes go sad and inward-cast.  It’s an expression John privately refers to as For I Am James Flint, Who Deserves Nary A Nice Thing, and he hates to see it, and hates even more how often he has occasion to do so.

Shivers or no, bedding thievery or no, he cannot bear to be the cause of that look.

“S’all right, love,” he soothes.  “Just... here... give me this corner.”  He tugs at a loose end of the blanket wrapped round James.  James shuffles on the cot, setting it swinging willy-nilly as he unrolls himself.

“I’m sorry, John,” he mutters, gruff and low and entirely too self-deprecating for John’s taste.  “Still not used to sharing.”

“Don’t you bother your lovely ginger head,” John answers, tugging and shifting and easing himself close to the absolutely delicious warmth emanating from James’s bare skin.  “Mmmmmm, that’s better.”

“Watch who you’re calling lovely,” James grumbles at him, and that’s a better sign.  If he’s back to fond sniping, he’s left off belittling himself.

“I’m frozen near to death,” John responds.  “Can’t be blamed for the foolishness that comes out of my mouth.”

James tightens a thick, muscled arm around John’s back, holding him in tight to his chest.  “Pretty fool, though.  Pretty mouth.  Shite, your toes are like ice!”

John squirms happily.  He’s pressed against quite a lot of well-beloved skin, and his shivers are easing, though he can’t help one going through him at James’s endearments that hasn’t a thing to do with the temperature.

“I know you’ll help warm them, Captain,” he smiles.

James tucks the blankets tight about John’s shoulders and sighs over-dramatically.  “Aye,” he says.  “The things I do for love.”

And that makes John’s chest hum enough to produce its own heat as the swinging of the cot gentles and rocks them both back to sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> Lots more pirate loving going on at Tumblr. I originally posted this [here](http://fand0mfan.tumblr.com/post/166962865984/brassfannibal-hey-guys-a-serious-question-here), where you can come love on pirates with me.


End file.
